


The Sleep Of Reason

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bleeding, Caretaking, Dry Humping, Gentleness, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Infection, M/M, Medical, Mild Emetophilia, Scents & Smells, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blurr falls ill on a mission, but it is Longarm Prime who finds himself swayed by the sickness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sleep Of Reason

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for yueki on my Tumblr! Commissions are still open.   
> This was so fun to write! Thank you for your support and a happy new year to everyone!

When Longarm arrived Blurr was in the medical tent already. First Aid had been unsure if the virus was contagious or not, although he was erring on the side of not. It was a strange sight inside the ship’s deep back storage bay, which had been empty before now, white and billowing with internal light sources like a ghost. The whole area smelled of vomit. He was made to wait outside on a small chair, listening to the muffled voices and silhouettes.

Eventually someone came out and offered to coat him in a layer of protective adhesive from a small aerosol can. He accepted and stood with his arms and legs apart while the masked medic sprayed him down. First Aid slid back out from the leaves of the tent, beckoning him closer.

“He doesn’t appear contagious, but these are still,” his hands tumbled around one another, “ _different_ circumstances. The infection, as it were, appears to be partially organic based. We don’t have protocol for that.”

Longarm nodded solemnly.

“Does anyone with below level clearance know?”

“No, no, I took care of that myself. He was in bad condition when he came in but he still had enough mind to flash a small report through the system. Only high level medical personnel were even notified of the emergency.”

He nodded, more concerned with the heavy, raking scrape of fans he could now hear as they approached the quarantine zone.

“He’s not looking well,” said First Aid, as if to try and hold Longarm back, but he was already pushing past into the tent.

Blurr seemed very small. He was on his back on a disposable cot looking grey and dull in the high light. There was a barrel of sick in the corner, yellow and evil smelling. Clearly they weren’t sure how to safely dispose of it until they understood the infection. Blurr’s fans rattled painfully with each breath, trying desperately to cool his overheating frame down. At first Longarm thought he was in stasis lock or some other restorative state but shortly after he entered Blurr’s optics flickered into twin slits, shifting to catch his own.

“Kkghh-kkagghh-!”

He tried to sit up, suddenly, and all the medical staff, including First Aid, leapt at him.

“A-agent Blurr, please, don’t strain yourself!”

He moved to help them ease him back onto the cot, wincing at the screech of Blurr’s joints. There was a deep fear in his optics that made him boil inside. It was not a wholly unpleasant feeling.

“Sir…”

He barely heard it. Blurr was so weak in his arms.

“Lay him back.”

First Aid shooed away the others after a moment, giving Longarm an apologetic stare.

“He’s very strong.”

“I know.”

Longarm reached out and put his hand on Blurr’s. It happened so slowly that for a moment nobody seemed to notice. Then, First Aid gasped as though he’d been burned.

“Don’t! We don’t know if the contagion-!”

“I don’t care.”

He sat down, keeping his hand there.

“I’m staying with him.”

Longarm did not know anything about organic contagions and diseases apart from what little he’d read in the intelligence files. He would not really know whether or not taking Blurr’s hand was a safe bet, though he would do it anyways as he was moved to. Shockwave, however, was very well versed in such matters and not at all worried. This was something he had seen and conquered long ago; not contagious after the first cycle, which is had clearly advanced past, and not deadly if taken care of, which he knew Blurr would be. Very painful, however.

He turned to Blurr, who was wheezing softly, and sighed.

“Do you have any notes on the infection?”

First Aid scrambled for his data pad.

* * *

 

The ship had been out in the far reaches of the Commonwealth for three stellar cycles. It was a high level mission but they had to bring along some lesser agents to flesh out the ranks and perform menial labor. Blurr and a handful of other covert operatives had been going in and out for lunar cycles at a time to keep tabs on a spattering of planets bordering the Quintesson Pan Galactic Co-Prosperity Sphere. This time when he returned he had brought something along with him.

The infection was caused by a group of technoorganic nanite-like creatures which had attached themselves to Blurr’s natural nerve clusters and begun to siphon electrical energy from them as well as some base metals in the surrounding area. They were not actually strong enough to overcome his system’s defensive protocols, but the fight to purge himself of them would be long and agonizing. It meant he had a hard time keeping down his fuel intake, and, worse still, that on occasion, when his personal nanites were winning the war, an organic sludge would ooze from seams on various parts of his body, the leftover byproduct of the infection. He was overheating and yet desperately cold, shaking but unable to move himself. He could not recharge, but he was hardly conscious.

Longarm took the task of personal nursing into his own servos like a saint. First Aid and his crew came to visit on and off, but Blurr, confined to his own quarters now, needed constant attention and support, and only one bot was close enough to him to provide that. He was also the only bot willing to risk infection. Sequestered to bleed and gasp away from where he would disturb the other denizens of the ship, Blurr fell into Longarm’s arms as limply as a newly sparked bitlet.

“Now, now, Blurr, take it easy.”

Carefully sliding up onto a clean part if the sheets, Longarm stroked across Blurr’s burning forehead with a weak smile. The agent could hardly muster the power to keep his optics online, gulping down deep breaths. They had lowered the room temperature quite a bit, but it was not enough, and the wet air from the filtration piping made condensation form on his frame and soak the berth. It was clear runoff, though, not the sick, so he ignored it, petting Blurr’s cheek until his shaking lessened.

“You are so strong to have made it this far, you know that? You did well on your mission.”

Blurr tried to speak, dimly, and only a soft moan followed. He turned into Longarm’s touch, lifting a hand to try and find his comforting presence. Longarm guided the pale fingers to his chest and held them there, as if to soothe him with the very beat of his spark.

“R-records are on the ship-ship-ship…”

“We know, Blurr. We found them. I told you that yesterday.”

“Kkggh…”

“Shh, shh.”

He leaned in and nuzzled their helms together, smiling softly as Blurr’s labored quivers slowed. Turning to the side table, he pulled out and uncapped a bottle of hyper-dense energon. It was almost spongey in texture, not unpleasant if one could stomach the strong taste, and so packed with nutrients that Blurr would be able to hopefully absorb a good amount before purging again. If was unpleasant but necessary as any intravenous lines were corroded by the infection.

Recognizing what was coming, Blurr turned away, waving his hands limply before his face in some attempt to hold him off. Longarm hummed, pushing them out of the way and gently easing a thumb into Blurr’s mouth. Blurr coughed, his tongue pushing wetly against the intrusion, but his hands fell to his sides, limp. Submissive, almost.

Shockwave was fascinated by the clinging filth of Autobot illness. When Decepticons became badly compromised they hid themselves, shutting away to perhaps die in solemn agony rather than brace the potential shame of turning to help from uncertain sources. Autobots, however, struggled to stay with others, frightened and small in their failing bodies. Longarm would come into the room and Blurr would jolt and whine, pushing into his hands, trying to tell him of his nightmares and hallucinations. He begged for Longarm’s cool touch on his face, even when half in stasis.

To be honest, his first experiences with Blurr had not been particularly engaging. He was too smart to be easily used and too loyal to pick off for sport. He was attractive but difficult to approach and originally Shockwave had taken him as just another outwardly cocky agent trying to hide a brittle and flawed center, all those glitches and social shortcomings making him bitter and lonely and boring. Time had slowly proven him a more modest, dedicated character, one of real intellect and compassion. He was not simple for it, even questioning the motives of his superiors, and the notes left by Highbrow indicated that they had often butted heads over issues of morality. He was damaged, which Shockwave liked, and he eventually seemed to grow quite a soft spot for Longarm, but Shockwave was hardly interested in anything less than a gaping wound.

This was as good as any.

“Open your mouth now.”

He lifted Blurr’s head up with his knee and the bot whimpered in discomfort, still trying to spit his thumb out. It was a futile attempt and he easily jimmied open Blurr’s jaw, holding it there with two fingers as he carefully spooned the energon inside.

“This will help, I promise.”

He pushed it deep into the back of Blurr’s throat, making him gag and drool, and pulled back just as quickly to hold his mouth shut.

“Swallow, Blurr. Swallow, there’s a good boy.”

Blurr failed the first time, spasming when his fuel tanks rolled, then succeeded in forcing it down with a small sob. Longarm pulled back, massaging his stomach gently as Blurr tried to reach up and wipe at the spit trailing down his face to little effect. There was a sick barrel under the bed he began to nudge out with his toe, in no real hurry. It would take a while for the energon to be processed enough to be thrown up again, during which Blurr would feel awful but be better off for. He watched the small bot wriggle and grasp at the sheets, brows creased in upset.

Soothing Blurr’s stomach, Longarm sighed deeply, leaning over to watch his every movement. How endearing to have someone who was already so weak compared to his true form to cling to him like this, willing and desperate. His cries were ugly and his movements were not graceful but he still somehow held an inherent beauty, something in the slant of his jaw and the cut of his hips. He traced Longarm’s thick fingers over Blurr’s palm and it closed around them, grasping for stability.

The lurching came a few quiet kliks later. Blurr jumped in place, hacking, and Longarm hauled him upright and over the bedside. Blurr gasped, choked, and then heaved a sick slap of vomit into the empty barrel bottom. He was so taken by illness at this point in time that he came close to passing out when his body was so violently taken, and Longarm had to gently hold his chest with the arm not around his shoulders to keep him from purging directly into his own lap. Another surge came, worse than the first, and Blurr made a soft noise of anguish when it was done.

“I’m s-sorry-sorry-sorry-so-”

He continued vomiting for another klik while Longarm cradled him gently, humming soothing words into his neck.

“It’s alright, it’s okay, you’re doing so well, so well…”

It had been a good purge, all things considered. Blurr’s coloration seemed slightly more natural and he was bleeding organics from his chest plating. After moving the barrel off to the door, where it would wait the medical team, he carried Blurr to the small bathing tub they had brought in to sponge him down. The room was ripe with the acrid scent of his illness, but Shockwave found it to be more than a stink. He hummed quietly as he bathed Blurr off from his leaking and his heat, internally analyzing the chemical components in the air. It was almost too pleasurable; this was a way to see inside Blurr that he would otherwise be a stranger to.

“No need to be sorry, Blurr.”

Blurr leaned against him heavily, touching his thigh.

_“Thank you.”_

It was quiet, but he heard it ring through every circuit in his frame. This little Autobot, this sick and weak thing, harbored such a love for him.

He went to change the sheets, letting Blurr soak a bit more for his own good. He was supposed to perform vitals checks each time Blurr had an episode of sickness using a wide array of clunky tools First Aid had nervously disinfected before giving to him, but Shockwave was able to simply taste the thickness of his oils and the heat of his fuel pump by entering the same room, more so the other, smaller indicators of progress. The report was sent off and they lay together on the clean berth. Dimming the lights to almost nothing, Longarm wrapped his arms around Blurr and held him close.

In space there was no on or off cycle. Bots woke and slept as they could, depending on their jobs. Right now, Blurr was Longarm’s only job, and they recharged as they could get it. Shortly after they had bed down, one of the medics rang for the sick barrel. Untangling himself just enough to look decent, Longarm hurried them to it and then locked the door as they left.

Rest came without a schedule, without any reason to it. Sometimes Blurr would lie awake shaking and moaning for cycles, sometimes he would hardly wake at all. This was one of the calmer cycles and Longarm found himself slipping into recharge beside Blurr’s overheated frame, listening to the uneven ventilations and wheezing whimpers as they too sank into the softer world of dreams. Shockwave was never fully under, not if he could help it, and what remained of his conscious mind traced the heaving curves at his side, enraptured by thoughts of their contours against his real width.

The budding erotic nature of his fantasies was probably what kept him oblivious to Blurr’s shifting for so long. By the time he became conscious of it, all at once and with a sharp intake of breath, Blurr had his arms wrapped firmly around Longarm’s shoulders, or what he could reach of them, and his hips flush against a wide thigh, and he was _burning_.

“Blurr?”

He tried to sound gentle and questioning at first, interested only in helping, but Blurr could only shift and whine. His second instinct was to check for runoff, the oozing signs of his illness making him uncomfortable. There was none, though, and nothing else he could discern was different, but still Blurr clung to him.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

He cupped Blurr’s face in his hand, giving him a deep, genuine look. Blurr said, “ah-ah-ah-I-!” and then buried his face into Longarm’s chest, either embarrassed or hurting too much to continue. Longarm lay back down beside him, stroking along his jaw.

“You need something, don’t you?”

Blurr shook.

“You need more comfort than I’ve been giving you. Oh, I am sorry for that.”

He wrapped his arms around and around Blurr’s waist, pulling them as flush together as he could, nuzzling close to Blurr’s face and smelling the sick heat of his breath.  Blurr pushed into him with equal fervor, as weak as he was. Static fogged the cloud of his electromagnetic field like a dark dream.

He kissed Blurr full on the mouth. The reaction was slow to come, a surprise given who he was mouth to mouth with, but sweetly desperate when it arrived. Blurr tried to curl his sore joints in to his chest, opening his mouth loosely. He still tasted somewhat acidic, and was Shockwave one to care about flavor he might have been repulsed. As it was all his secondary sensory input did was analyze and categorize, interested more in chemical makeup than traditional interest. Blurr was submissive and pained and willing and it could not have been more perfect.

Grinding his hips down experimentally, Shockwave felt Blurr buck in response, moaning into his mouth. It was a small movement, one laced with the pain of trying too hard under duress, and he broke away to coo affectionately as he did it again and again, watching Blurr screw his optical shutters down and let his mouth fall open in quiet pleasure. He quaked so hard his plating rattled.

“My dear little creature.”

Blurr’s helm fell back, gasping.

“Si-r-r, please!”

“Shh-shh-shh,” Longarm purred into his receptor, tasting his scent along his mouth guard, “I couldn’t possibly. Not with you so ill.”

“Please,” whispered Blurr again, like he understood what he was asking for. Pushing his thigh between Blurr’s legs, Longarm watched him squirm. He had been serious; interfacing with Blurr in this state, while tempting, would potentially have disastrous consequences for them both. He was surprised Blurr was even able to get aroused in his current condition, although given how confused and frightened he seemed it was doubtful his right mind was anywhere near the situation.

Longarm pushed his thigh in harder, grinding against Blurr’s closed panel. Blurr groaned, coughing a bit, but his hips moved into it. Side by side they curled to meet one another perfectly, wrapped tightly in a nest of sheets. Blurr was alive with arousal, dizzy with its uneven cuts of pain and pleasure as they cycled through him. His hands swayed in the air, lost birds without the sight to find a perch. Longarm pushed again and they dropped like rocks, tangling in the sheets.

“Sssssss-!”

“I know, Blurr, I know.”

He hiked Blurr’ thighs up around himself awkwardly, continuing to grind his thigh against Blurr’s panel. Whether or not he had the strength to open himself, he didn’t, leaving their movements clean and gentle, loud in the consuming silence. The condensation sweat was forming all over again, making him glimmer in the darkness of the room, catching red from the glowing sphere of Shockwave’s optic atop Longarm’s forehead until his entire body shone like a galaxy. Dipping his helm low, Longarm licked a trail of black space across his chest plate, drinking in the burn.

There was very little synchronization to their movements, mostly Blurr lolling and Longarm testing different measures of force and tempo, but he could smell the building charge, sick and colored beneath his plating, and the musk of lubricant was so heavy in the air he could essentially taste it. His own equipment may as well have been nonexistent in the excitement, his focus on Blurr so great that he himself developed no desire for release. He had spent the past solar cycles monitoring Blurr’s every twitch; it was a hard habit to unlearn. The Cybertronian brain craved data as the fuel tank craved energon. He desire the knowledge of Blurr’s bliss in overload untampered by physical need.

“Easy now.”

Blurr was unable to regulate his ventilations, the meager amount of kinetic action he was engaged in more than unacceptable for his already overclocked systems. His vents sputtered on and off, sometimes too fast and sometimes painfully slowly. It did not deter Longarm, _Shockwave_ , caught up in Blurr’s constellation spotted protoform. His interface panels were water-tight, and the lubricant smell was the only part that penetrated the seams, but he could imagine the warm bath of it in wait behind the thin metal, the clench and release of his calipers as they struggled against the burden of infected motor controls to seek stimulation. The beauty of that thought made him grind his knee in so hard the panel warped inwards, just for a moment, and Blurr cried out a strange and wonderful warble, optics rolling back in his head.

Longarm did not stop forcefully humping Blurr against his leg until the agent’s frame had gone completely limp. It had been a bit of a strain on himself, but Blurr was in shambles. He listened to the way Blurr’s spark scraped a desperate line of distortion into his EM field with every rotation, optics flickering. Even so, something about it seemed cleaner, fresh. Perhaps expelling some of the energy he had accumulated due to his timing glitch since he bed rest began was exactly what he had needed.

“Are you feeling much better?”

Blurr said nothing, possibly beginning to slip back into recharge. Longarm stood and crossed the room, retrieving the still damp rag from Blurr’s sponge bath earlier with the intent to help cool him before he began to smoke.

“Hhggkk.”

He turned back, smiling gently. Blurr’s hands were crawling across his berth again, searching for their missing mates.

“Blurr? Do you need something?”

Blurr rolled to his side and retched onto the floor.

* * *

 

“Clean bill of health? How wonderful!”

Blurr smiled shyly, sipping from the deep purple glass of medicated energon First Aid had given him rations supplements for.

“Well, sir, I’m nowhere near ready to return to active duty, I’m sorry, although they did say my healing was exceptionally quick from an infection like that since organics are known to have extremely corrosive properties so it may be sooner than later, I hope.”

He coughed.

“I wanted to thank you for all your help while I was laid low. I mean that. I don’t think anyone else has ever treated me with such respect and, and kindness before, especially since you had no obligation to give me preferential treatment like that, I mean, as an agent, um…”

Apparently he had divulged more than he meant to. Longarm reached across the table to hold his hands, still detecting a minute tremble as his systems performed small recalibrations, working to recover the data lost in the clumps of flesh waste.

“Blurr, Agent Blurr,” he started, meeting Blurr’s optics when he was able, “you are not just an asset to my department and you know that. At the risk of sounding too informal, I do think of you as a friend as well as a talented Intelligence worker.”

As he leaned in one of his thighs brushed Blurr’s under the table, an accidental shove by all appearances. Blurr’s knee jerked on impact, but settled back against the warm weight. He smiled a small, secretive smile, as if remembering some wonderful dream he could not explain.

“I like to think of you in that way as well, sir.”

The remaining shudders in his spark pulse told Shockwave a different story.


End file.
